


California Encounters

by Redrikki



Category: Chuck (TV), Monk (TV), Psych, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times the Winchesters nearly got caught.  Who needs plot when you can have silly crossovers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Santa Barbara

“Shawn,” Gus hissed urgently, suddenly seizing Shawn’s arm and dragging him behind the toothpaste display isle header. “See that guy over there?” He nodded towards a tired-looking young man in his late-20s or early-30s who was stocking up on first aid supplies. 

“Sweet coat.” Shawn took a moment to fantasize how ruggedly handsome he’d look in the battered leather jacket with the collar flipped up in the back, framing his face like a lion’s mane. He tried to imagine the look on Jules’ face when she saw him, but it was hard with Gus’s insistent poking.

“Dude, focus,” Gus snapped, sounding appalled, downright scandalized even. “That’s _Dean Winchester_ , the psycho serial killer.” 

Shawn turned back to where the man was pulling the packaging off of a bottle of some as yet un-purchased aspirin, actually looking at his face this time. Now that Gus mentioned it, the guy’s military-short hair, chiseled bone structure and extra-girly lips did look familiar. “Oh, right, from Lassie’s most wanted wall.” There was something wrong with that though. “Wait, didn’t he get blown up?” With his blood-shot eyes and slightly pained expression, Shawn thought the guy looked a lot more hung-over and a lot less blown to little smoking bits. 

“Well, clearly not,” Gus pointed out. He frowned, considering. “Unless it’s not him.”

“Let’s call him Awesome-coat Dude ‘till we’re sure. And maybe even after,” Shawn said watching the newly christened Awesome-coat Dude pop a handful of aspirin into his mouth. He might be a hung-over shoplifter or he might be an undead psycho-killer, but there was only one way to find out. Shawn took a deep breath, girded his loins, figuratively anyway, and step out into the isle. Gus sputtered for a second and made a futile grab at Shawn’s arm before giving up and sliding into his usual place at Shawn’s side. “Excuse me,” Shawn called, waving cheerfully as they approached their suspect. “Hi there.” 

Awesome-coat Dude hurriedly dry-swallowed his ill-gotten aspirin as they approached. “Hey, it’s cool,” he explained, holding out the opened bottle with a rueful expression. “I was gonna pay for anyway, but this friggin’ Muzak is killin’ me.”

Shawn felt himself smiling at that. The guy was sort of shoplifting and might very well be a homicidal maniac, but at least he had some taste in music. “I know, right? The Erie Canal Song? What were they thinking?” Awesome-coat Dude grinned and nodded at that and Shawn would have been happy enough to leave it there if Gus hadn’t elbowed him to remind him what they were there for. “Right, so, I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, and this is my friend Butros-Butros Bengali. We’re taking a survey.”

Awesome-coat Dude looked a little thrown by the conversational shift, but recovered quickly. “Chocolate beats vanilla,” he supplied. “Brunettes before blonds, pie before cake and the best fruit is–”

“Pineapple,” Shawn interrupted. “The real questions is, are you now or have you ever been an un-dead psycho serial killer?”

There was an extended silence as Awesome-coat Dude looked from Shawn to Gus and back again. From his pained smile, Gus probably wanted the floor to swallow him, but Awesome-coat Dude’s carefully blank expression was harder to read. He could be trying to figure out how to back away slowly while avoiding the racks of pills behind him or he could be planning to whip out a gun and kill them all. “Dude, seriously? Pineapple?” He dead-panned.

He hadn’t actually answered the questioned, but Shawn found himself relaxing. Awesome-coat Dude wasn’t the driod they were looking for. The man was grubby, had dirt and some dark sludge encrusted on his pants and a faint odor of smoke, but something, maybe his fake psychic intuition, told Shawn that, whatever the guy did, it didn’t involve psycho serial killing. “Dude, I’m always serious about pineapples.”


	2. San Francisco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian Monk was about to solve the case, but then these two showed up, all filthy and distracting.

Adrian had always been afraid of cemeteries. Back before he’d been buried alive he’d rated them somewhere down between crickets and Alice Cooper but since then they were up near port-o-johns. They were just so full of dirt and bugs and coffins to be locked up in. If it hadn’t been for the case, Adrian wouldn’t have come anywhere near here.

The body had been removed days ago, but the headstone was still stained with Maria del Santos’ blood from where she had hit her head during the fight with her secret boyfriend, the father of her unborn child. That wasn’t what had killed her though. No, the fatal blow had been delivered with a rock wielded by the boyfriend’s father, Christian White. Once he had heard Maria threaten to tell his son’s fiancé about the baby, he had to finish the job. “Okay, here’s what—”

“Excuse me,” Captain Stottlemeyer interrupted. He flashed his badge at the pair of men coming up over the rise. “This is an active crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The two men exchanged a look. “Sorry officer,” said the shorter one. “We’ll get out of your hair.” 

They headed back the way they’d come but barely made it a few steps before Lt. Disher called out after them. “Hey, what’s with the shovels?” The pair stopped and executed a perfectly synchronized turn to face the detective. “Neither of you work here.”

Adrian frowned. For once, Lt. Disher actually had a good point. The police had interviewed all the cemetery employees when the body was first discovered and these two definitely did not work here. They also clearly had nothing to do with the case but, still, it was suspicious. 

“We were just planting a rosebush on our Nanna’s grave,” explained the tall one. He had an earnest expression and wide doe eyes. Natalie made a sound she normally reserved for puppies and small children. “The cemetery caretaker said it was all right.”

They certainly had been digging. Both men were absolutely _covered_ in dirt. It coated their clothes and their hair. The shorter one had a long streak of mud across his forehead. They looked less like they had planted a bush and more like they had dug a pit and then rolled around in it. It was horrible. Adrian felt dirty just _looking_ at them. “Wipe,” he hissed, reaching out his hand for one. “Wipe.”

But a wipe was not forthcoming. “Mr. Monk, you haven’t even touched anything,” Natalie protested. 

Adrian made a low, agitated noise and snapped his fingers. Couldn’t she see he was suffering? It felt like a small eternity before Natalie sighed and fished a wipe out of her purse. Adrain scrubbed his hands and across his forehead but it didn’t seem to help.

Meanwhile, up on the ridge, Captain Stottlemeyer and Lt. Disher were practically within touching distance of the walking mud balls. “I’m going to need to see some id,” insisted the Captain.

The men’s faces tightened with annoyance. “I left my wallet in the car,” said the shorter one. "Want me to run and go get it?” he added sarcastically. 

The Captain straightened up and pulled his shoulders back the way he did when he was done playing nice. Adrian groaned. Yes, the man’s attitude was deeply obnoxious, but it was also a distraction. Adrain already knew who the killer was. Why were they wasting their time with dirty gardeners? “See, here’s the thing, I was about to explain the murder and now these people are here, being all filthy and distracting. Can’t they just go?”

The Captain sighed and waved them away. “You heard the man.” The pair scampered off, hopefully to go take a shower. And do laundry. And vacuum their car and every place they had been ever. 

“I still say there was something suspicious about those two,” complained Lt. Disher as they walked back down the slope toward the grave. He looked back over his shoulder and frowned in the men’s general direction 

“Let it go, Randy,” said the Captain. He rubbed his forehead like it pained him. “Just let it go.”

Adrian looked around to make sure he had everyone’s undivided attention and that no filthy hobos were sneaking up to interrupt them. “Okay, here’s what happened…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise of the murder comes from a book by Sharon Kay Penman. I won't spoil the book by telling you which one.


	3. Burbank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Chuck's old college friends stops by the Burbank Buy More. Chances are high that he's trouble, statistically speaking.

Chuck broke off a whispered conversation with Casey at the sound of the Nerf Herd bell. Of course Jeff and Lester had abandoned their post and wandered off to who knows where. With a sigh, Chuck plastered on his best customer-service smile and headed for the desk before he noticed who was actually standing there. “Holy crap, it’s Sam Winchester!”

“Who is he? Fulcrum?” Casey asked as he not so subtly reached for the gun tucked in the small of his back.

“What? No!” Chuck grabbed Casey’s arm before he could pull his piece and scare the crap out of all the customers. “He’s just a guy I went to college with. He lived down the hall my senior year.” Sam had been just a skinny beanpole of a freshman back then but he had really filled out. 

Casey continued to study Sam with narrow, suspicious eyes. “And how many of your old college pals have turned out to be spies and international terrorists?”

“That is a good, if disturbing, point.” Chuck did sometimes wonder if Stanford had secretly offered a major in spy-jinks. He kind of wished he could go back in time to take some of the classes. “Tell you what, I’ll go over there to see if I flash on anything and you wait before you start shooting. Good deal?”

“Sam, hey!” Chuck called with a genuine smile. Sam didn’t smile back though. In fact, he looked kind of alarmed. “It’s Chuck. Chuck Bartowski? From Stanford?”

Recognition dawned. “Yeah, Chuck. You lived down the hall before you got…” He trailed off awkwardly. Chuck’s expulsion from Stanford tended to be a real conversation killer. “And now you work here?”

Man, it was at times like these that Chuck wished that he could just tell people that he was an international superspy with a crazy hot girlfriend and not just some loser stuck in a dead-end job. “Yeah…so, what have you been up to since college?”

“Family business.”

Chuck could feel the flash building like a sneeze. **Fire. Cover of _Supernatural_. Police reports. Crime scene photos. Dean Winchester’s interview with the Baltimore PD. Fire.** And, just like that, it was over leaving Chuck breathless and shaking. Monsters were real. Monsters were real and Sam Winchester was a monster-hunting badass with a series of books based on his adventures. Seriously, how was this his life? 

“Are you all right?” Sam asked looking a bit like _he_ was going for a concealed gun. “Your eyes just got all weird.”

Oh, great. Sam probably thought Chuck was possessed or something. “I’m fine. It’s drugs, I mean, medication.” And now he thought Chuck was a junkie. He supposed that was marginally better than getting shot or tied to a chair and exorcized, but still, way to make an impression. “Medication I’m supposed to take. I’m not…I don’t…” This conversation was not going the way he had planned. Chuck took a deep breath and started over. “Hi, I’m Chuck. Welcome to Buy More. How can I help you today?”

Sam regarded him wearily before holding out an ancient laptop covered in classic rock decals. “I think it has a virus.”

Chuck nodded and filled out the necessary paperwork like he wasn’t talking to a bonafide monster hunter. “Okay, well, this will probably take a few hours, so we’ll call you when it’s done.” Casey materialized ninja-like at Chuck’s side the second Sam was out of sight. “Gah!” He yelped, jumping half-a-foot in the air. “Don’t do that!”

“Is he going to be a problem?”

“No.” Chuck fought down a bubble of hysterical laughter. “He’s definitely on the side of the angels.”

**Author's Note:**

> While going through some of my old story ideas I found this one. Let's see if I can finish it.


End file.
